


To The Brink

by Curlsandcollege



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, Bottling Up Feelings, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Implied canon typical racism, Politics, Post AM, Post canon, Religion, complicated relationship with anger, even if they're not from faerghus, that old faerghus repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlsandcollege/pseuds/Curlsandcollege
Summary: Mercedes has chosen to love a man who refuses to be comforted or even admit when things are wrong. It is not always easy.It is even harder for her to admit that sometimes, she requires comfort herself.Mercedes and Dedue struggle with loose ends after the war.
Relationships: Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28
Collections: That Old Faerghus Repression





	To The Brink

**Author's Note:**

> Two people who define themselves by their ability to care for others getting together? I WILL EAT THAT SHIT UP WITH A SPOON THANK YOU MORE PLEASE.

* * *

> The goddess cares for and protects all that is beautiful in this world.
> 
> The goddess will never deny the splendors of love, affection, joy,
> 
> peace, faith, kindness, temperance, modesty, or patience.
> 
> -The Book of Serios 

* * *

As the first month after the war came to a whimpering close, a painful truth became clear to Mercedes von Martritz. They fought for so long they’d forgotten how to live.  
  
That was a burden she would joyfully bear. 

Simple pleasures were something of a specialty for Mercedes. There was practical healing in setting a bone and repairing torn muscle with the rush of faith magic. Healing the injury did not repair the shock of topping from a pegasus or taking a lance wound.  
  
Those wounds needed a different kind of care entirely. 

Sylvain occasionally teased her for being a secret hedonist, but pleasure could heal just as much as it could hurt. 

Dimitri needed near constant reassurance of the value of what he was doing, meaningful prayer, an occasional bad joke. Annette was comforted with sweets, praise, a sympathetic ear. Ashe with warm food, hugs, a good story. 

Dedue was frustratingly difficult to comfort. He so rarely gave himself permission to enjoy things for the pure pursuit of joy. If he gardened, he was serving the plants, preserving a bit of his homeland. If he cooked the foods that made him quietly nostalgic it was only to share with others. They could come together in private moments, but it felt as if he never truly settled.

He hadn’t rested since they all returned to Fhirdiad, making himself ill worrying that _Dimitri_ was working himself to the bone. He didn’t see it, or couldn’t. Just pushed himself with the single minded stubbornness that drove him to care far too much. That made being loved by him so all encompassing and wonderful.  
  
That made being his partner a trial at times. 

Things in Fodlan were not steady. Empire loyalists refused to recognize the sacrifices of General Bergliez and his peers and just kept fighting as if Adrestia hadn’t fallen.  
  
As if everyone wouldn’t need the help of the church, or the kindness of their new countrymen to last a winter. Too many fields were left unplanted while war ravaged the continent.  
  
She prayed for everyone to make it through. She worked to make it happen. 

Mercedes spent her days in Fhirdiad’s churches and orphanages, helping where she could. It was exhausting work, but fulfilling. The city was still digging itself out from Cornelia’s rule- so many people needed the generosity of strangers to survive. A warm meal, a smile, a dry place to sleep, new shoes for children who would keep growing, war or no.

She tried not to let herself feel the weight of responsibility as anything less that fulfilling her lifelong desire to serve.

The people she helped slept in crowded apartments if they were lucky, on floors, or alleys, or worse if not. Mercedes returned nightly to the palace, to a finely appointed room set aside by the King as a token of their friendship.  
  
“I enjoy having you to pray with, Mercedes. Please, if I am to be King let me use some of my power for my friends.” He’d insisted and something warm in the pit of her stomach reminded her that he had just as much experience dealing with those who would only act for others as she did.  
  
Years of friendship with Dedue made Dimitri well equipped for dealing with her soft refusals of kindness. 

He had to frame the gift as a benefit for him so she would accept it at all. And she did, graciously. It was an act of mercy. One that would keep her out of her adopted father’s home just a little longer. 

She could appreciate having her own space even if she never slept there- If she was to be in Fhirdiad palace then she would sleep beside the man she loved. 

They were Blue Lions to the depths of their hearts, yet they both lacked the shame imbued in a Faerghhan upbringing. It was against norms, sure, but they weren’t nobility. There were no consequences outside of strange looks or whispers. She could attempt to be subtle while finding the whole thing a bit ridiculous. She would not feel embarrassed for being in love.  
  
The goddess espoused modesty and temperance, sure, but chastity was added on by those who were concerned about crests ending up too common.  
  


Churches in Adrestia did not include chastity in their books of Serios.  
  
Duscur religion, as far as she could tell, placed a lot more emphasis on everyone being willing than on marriage vows. _Legitimacy_ wasn’t even a concept, rule wasn’t inherited in Duscur back when there was a Duscur to be governed. 

She let herself into Dedue’s room with her head held high, no matter who watched. It was still early enough for the two of them to be merely sharing a meal. Which they would, she hoped, as her stomach growled terribly. 

  
She was welcome to dinner at the church, but couldn’t bear to take food that could help someone else.  
  
Dedue didn’t dine until late most nights, now more than ever. The Viscount Kleinman’s trial was secret, and terribly messy. It seemed to drag on and on, a cloud settling over the palace for weeks.  
  
She let himself into Dedue’s rooms, greeted by the smell of plants and earth and, thankfully, meatpie. 

  
Dedue sat in an armchair designed to accommodate Blaiddyd largeness, not his own. He refused to commission something large enough to sit upon comfortably. She had half a mind to arrange that for his next birthday- Though knowing his stubbornness he’d likely just refuse and keep to his old seat.  
  
The sofa stored a series of knitting projects. The majority of the space was dedicated to a colorful blanket that he’d been fussing over for weeks. He’d get nearly there, declare something wrong, and take the whole thing out, and start again. It looked wonderfully eclectic and colorful. She could offer no suggestions to his craft, only help ball yarn or offer the joy of her company as he knit and purled something that was almost perfect, but never done. 

He rose, greeting her gently with a soft kiss before turning to a tray of food he’d kept prepared.  
  
“Thank you for the food, I am absolutely ravenous.” She smiled and dug into the pie, the crust flaking pleasantly even as it didn’t release steam. He’d been up here a while then, she realized. Council meetings often stretched into the night, these days.  
  
“Are you not eating?” She asked, noting the second pie, untouched. It wasn’t his favorite dish, but Dedue did not turn down food, even if he disliked it.  
  
He shook his head, returning to his chair and to the project he’d been occupying himself with before her arrival.  
  
He was carefully gluing bits of a teacup back together. Mercedes recognized the pattern, it was from the Professor’s favorite set.  
  
“Dimitri?” She asked with a mouthful of food. 

“What?” He asked, his face narrowing in confusion. Now, finally he looked at her, his face illuminated in the firelight. His hair was in slight disarray, as if he’d run his hands through it earlier but not fixed it back into its tight tail. It wasn't like him to leave something askew in his own appearance, even in private.   
  
Something tinged just a bit off about the scene before her.  
  
“Did Dimitri break the cup? He’s been doing so much better with his strength. Oh, he’ll feel terrible breaking a gift from the professor. That’s kind of you, to try to fix it for him.” She took another bite of pie, enjoying the smooth blend of summer vegetables on her tongue.  
  
Dedue’s face remained still, “No. It was not his majesty.” He resumed the puzzle before him silently while she ate. 

Mercedes had a knack from the time she was a child when someone was in distress. Strong emotions in general made her skin pimple into gooseflesh.  
  
It was disconcerting that even with his stoic and even tone, Dedue’s denial put her on edge.  
  
She tried to sooth him, even though she knew he refused comfort outright, “Accidents do happen. I’m sure Dimitri doesn’t mind, and there is so much beauty in imperfect things.” Dimitri was forever bending needles, breaking pens. 

Dedue’s eyes remained stubbornly on his teacup, saying quietly, “Do not trouble yourself with this.”  
  
“If you’re upset I would like to trouble myself.” She placed her plate down and smoothed her skirt free of crumbs, starting to rise and walk towards him. 

  
Dedue noticed the change, “It is not about the cup, Mercedes.” He said, as if it would be a dismissal. As if he wouldn’t do the same if she were upset. 

She smiled gently as she could, “That’s okay.” She knelt in front of his chair, taking his hands into her own, “Would you mind telling me what happened?” 

Dedue let out a long breath, and placed the pieces of the cup on the side table.  
  
“His Majesty believes he is being kind to me, and my refusal frustrated him.” 

An answer but no explanation at all. “Is that what upset you?” Dimitri was quick with offers, and had tried many times over to help Dedue in the ways he saw fit- Dedue always refused outright. Neither of them would bend.  
  
She assumed this was just a new pattern of friendship for them, a new dance to replace their old _you need to sleep, your highness_ routine. But the air in the room felt off and her skin refused to settle. 

Dedue frowned in response, as if the mere notion that he might be upset was somehow offensive. 

She’d been through this before. “I’d feel better if I knew what he offered you.” She ran her thumb down his face gently, pausing on the scar over his lip. He kissed it instinctually before sighing.  
  
“I have told him before I wish to own no part of Faerghus. He does not listen.”  
  
This again? Mercedes wondered with just a hint of frustration that these two dear friends could not move past this silly squabble.

Dimitri tried to knight Dedue formally at the end of the war, he’d refused saying he was loyal to Dimitri only and would not take vows he did not believe in. Dimitri accepted his refusal graciously as he could.  
  
Which was to say, hardly.  
  
When they returned to Fhirdiad, Dedue refused a role on the council, claiming a lack of interest in politics. He would be a vassal, not an advisor.  
  
Dimitri made it clear that the invitation remained open. He still asked his opinion, insisted Dedue accompany him to sessions, set a place at the table for him. A soft refusal of his refusal.  
  
Dimitri tried to give him control of various territories, and the titles that accompanied them. Each was smaller and less significant, and Dedue refused every time.  
  
 _“I will not own any part of Faerghus. It does not belong to me.”_  
  
Neither would compromise, each so completely convinced in the rightness of their own opinion.  
  
Mercedes explained Dimitri’s point of view, understanding nobility from half a life spent amongst them, “He’s blinded by his own experience. He thinks he is doing you a kindness. He wishes to elevate you to nobility because to him, land is security.”  
  
Dedue’s face darkened, betraying nothing of the anger she was sure he felt, “Land is a burden.”  
  
“I know. Please know that I understand.” They’d been over this, not that he said much more than that. But it was so difficult to get him to admit to much of anything, nor to see Dimitri’s perspective. She explained with all the patience and grace she could, “It’s about legacy, he wants to make sure you and your future are provided for. He wants your children and grandchildren rewarded. He knows no other way to do this but grant you nobility.”  
  


He snorted, “I fail to see how nobility is a reward.”  
  
Mercedes smiled despite his tension, overcome with a bubble of fondness that burst out of her chest and made her want to kiss him. She could see his face relax a hair, and wanted him to know that she agreed. That they didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, but before all else she understood where he wanted to stand in life.  
  
Behind Dimitri.  
  
Beside her, hopefully.   
  
She knelt up, leaning her hands on his knees, “I don’t disagree. But Dimitri is a king, he can’t see it because he’s known nothing else. Perhaps one day he’ll listen.”

She only half understood Dedue’s reasons herself. He did not wish for nobility, did not want anything to distract him or pull his attention away from his duty to Dimitri.  
  
There was something more to it, she knew for sure. He wouldn’t share, but she could see how his gaze darkened when the topic came up. If it were merely a wish for less responsibility he would have conceded to make Dimitri happy. “For now you can hold the line. You’ve refused him before.” 

Dedue leaned forward, and his hands gently pulled at the pins holding her hat and veil. He covered her with himself and placing a gentle kiss to her hairline, a silent thank you.  
  
They understood each other, agreed on the path forward, even when they left so much unspoken.  
  
Mercedes told herself she did not need to understand, not really, and he would tell her his reasons in due time if he felt it appropriate. So much was difficult for him to say, she didn’t want to burden him. 

He lifted her into his lap, his lips trailing down her face until finally they fell against her own. 

He could keep a thing or two to himself. It didn’t mean he didn’t trust her with his heart. 

* * *

The markets of Fhirdiad were growing more vibrant by the week as the harvest season came into full swing. There were vendors from all corners of Fodlan trying to peddle their wares before the snows turned the roads dangerous and freezing.  
  
Mercedes loved it, loved the smells of fried foods and the sickly sweet buns sold from carts to children and adults alike. She would be so easily distracted by each and every delightful new thing- but today she had a mission and tried not to peer too long at baubles and finely woven fabrics.  
  
By the goddess, she would not return to the palace empty handed.  
  
She’d taken this path a few times before, around this corner and down that alley to a small corner of the market set aside from the others. The space widened, and rather than feeling so tightly packed the air opened and the people lessened. This was where the Duscur artisans sold their wares, apart from the others.  
  
She could find the stand on her own, she was sure she would recognize it if not on sight than by smell.  
  
“Oh, Mistress, you’re back.” A small voice called out from behind a cart painted the most vibrant shade of red Mercedes had ever seen with dried peppers strung across the posts. It smelled _lovely_ , though she could never really place anything.  
  
Mercedes gave a polite bow, recognizing the elderly vendor from previous trips, “Yes, hello it is very nice to see you today.”  
  
The old woman gave her an odd look, which Mercedes understood as soon as she asked, “Your man is not with you today?”  
  
“No, he’s quite busy at the palace.” She did not miss the flash of disappointment in the proprietress’ eyes as she mentioned the palace, “I was hoping to buy his usual?” Mercedes asked, peering over the jars and bushels full of Duscur spices and specialties.  
  
The old woman’s mouth curled up, and she reached for a small bowl of nuts she kept on the counter, popping one into her mouth, “He doesn’t have a usual order. He’s, what’s the word?” She swallowed, “Inconsistent.”  
  
Mercedes had never in her life heard someone describe Dedue as such and couldn’t help but find it amusing. _Inconsistent_. She’d need to tell him. He’d probably find it funny, much as he could find anything funny these days.  
  
Mercedes looked over the wares, hoping something would jump out at her as correct, but she couldn’t read the language on the labels and she had such little experience with his food. A few things smelled slightly familiar, but it was terribly difficult to discern without his help.  
  
A crunch of a nut, and then another question from the seller, “Do you know what he intends to make?”  
  
“No, only he has not been cooking and I believe he’s out of supplies. I’m sorry, I’m not terribly knowledgeable.” She tried to ask, dozens of times, but he would really only share that information with Ashe- and only instructionally. She could make a handful of things under his guidance, but he would only teach her if he knew she truly enjoyed the dish. 

It was his, not hers, and she could be absolutely delighted when he shared with her but it wasn’t her place to make demands.  
  
He did not need another person demanding things of him right now.   
  
She couldn’t handle spicy foods, and he wouldn’t take her interest in Duscur’s food as interest in _him_. But it had been weeks since he’d made space for himself in the palace kitchens. She wished to surprise him, brighten his day.  
  
The Kleinman trial was weighing on him. He could use something nice.  
  
“You should be learning how to cook, if you intend to marry him.” A hot flush fell over her face and Mercedes did her best to not drop her smile. They hadn’t spoken of marriage as something more than a future endeavor. When things are settled, maybe. Eventually. 

She stammered, desperately trying to find words to express her willingness to do both, and the complete lack of availability of either, “Oh, I, ah.”  
  
“Oh stop blushing, you Faerghans need to learn to say what you mean. That man looks at you like you hung the sun, and you’re here running his errands. If he won’t teach you, he’ll get an earful from me next time.”  
  
Mercedes had half a mind to remind her that she wasn’t Faerghan and that Dedue had far more important things to do than teach her how to cook. It would be no use to argue.   
  
Mercedes reminded herself there was no power in anger. Instead she bowed her head, feeling like she’d just failed an exam back at school, “I’m sorry, I’ll return with Dedue, or at least instructions on what to purchase. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Now don’t get upset. Why don’t I just give you a bride package?” Mercedes steadied herself, focusing on the warmth under the stern look being shot her way.  
  
“A what?”  
  
The older woman began packing things up as she spoke, “When a woman starts a new household she’s given a gift to start out in her new kitchen. A little bit of everything- If he’s out of ingredients, he’ll find what he’s looking for there.”  
  
“That would be lovely, thank you.” It wasn’t as if she was in a position to refuse, but it was a fine solution to her problem. 

As the brightly wrapped box was passed over to her Mercedes marveled over the packaging- It looked joyful, the cloth rough spun but dyed beautifully.  
  
“Now if you haven’t been dropping hints before, walking through the door with that unprompted would be enough to shock a man into marriage, or death. Just a warning.” The old woman grinned and Mercedes could see the freedom of old age- She longed to be able to meddle like that in the lives of near strangers, so carefree and assured in her rightness.  
  


That sort of freedom simply wasn’t available. She could hide under a level of absentmindedness, but she couldn’t help but be vigilant when things mattered.   
  
The boldness was wonderful though, and Mercedes smiled conspiratorially, “I will warn him in advance.” 

  
“Good girl.” 

* * *

  
She was half starving by the time she made her way to the edge of the market and decided a snack was in order before heading back to the palace. A light summer rain began to pour down and she knew just the place. 

A light tea would be lovely this time of day.  
  
 _Golden Thistles_ was not the sort of place Mercedes frequented, far fancier than the tea houses she’d patronized as a school of sorcery student. But she had a bit of coin leftover, and she’d heard wonderful things about their service.  
  
There were far worse things to splurge on than a warm place to wait out a storm.  
  
She sat at a small table in the corner and inhaled the wonderful aroma of Crescent-Moon Tea, delighted to have found it on offer. It was tranquil, the buttery shortbread, the sounds of rain, the curls of steam from her cup.  
  
“I thought I taught you to buy quality goods, Mercedes.” A low voice, painfully familiar, chided. 

Mercedes raised her head slowly from her tea, doing her best not to startle as she stared into the face of her adopted father.  
  
“Oh, but you always said the market in Fhirdiad was the finest in the world.” She followed his gaze down to her gift for Dedue and ran her fingers over the box protectively, “The colors on the packaging are so lovely too.” 

“Duscur merchants are not part of the market and while half the city starves you should be giving your business to loyal sons of Fodlan. If you’re hurting for money you should have come home. You are still welcome, you are still my daughter.”  
  
She almost choked at his words, each hurting and poking at a different wound buried deep under her skin.  
  
Their king lived because men from Duscur saved him from execution. She worked every day to get food to the citizens of Fhirdiad. All of them, no matter where they were born. 

She was absolutely not his daughter no matter what a series of hastily drawn adoption papers would claim.

  
  
It was so easy to pretend he was a problem for another day like her mending pile. To forget how angry his mere presence made her. 

Mercedes took a small sip, trying to collect herself, “I am fine, but I appreciate your concern.”  
  
He did not take the dismissal, sitting down at her table. He was so large without any strength behind it. He loomed in a way she’d once found terrifying, before she knew real strength. Before she had any of her own.  
  
He snarled, “You may hide behind the walls of the palace, but I want you to remember who put you there. I paid for your education, for the School of Sorcery, for Garreg Mach. You have friends in high places on _my_ coin. Do not turn your back so callously on me, when I am the one responsible for who you are.”  
  
If he was the one responsible for who she was, could he have the nightmares that haunted her then? Would he sometimes remember the feeling of holding her dying brother while her friends screamed at her to get off the front lines, to do her job, to _go_. If he was so keen to take _responsibility,_ she’d gladly pass on the shoulder that still ached when it got rainy.  
  
He could shudder as he went to pray because the king had once slammed her into the floor of the cathedral in a fit while she was desperately trying to heal him, and it took both Felix and Sylvain to pull him off of her. 

He could have the knowledge of how to hide the purpled bruises from the rest of the army in close quarters and shared saunas.  
  
She was sure that wasn’t what he wanted to take credit for- no. Just her newfound residence in the palace, her friendship with the king.

  
  
She took in a deep breath, holding it in her diaphragm and releasing it slowly, demanding her anger cool like the tea.  
  
Instead of yelling she said calmly, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” She gave a soft, unintimidating smile, “May I help you with something _father_?”  
  
He knocked her box to the floor, and it fell with a tremendous thud and a surefire crack of broken glass. Mercedes jumped, going to scramble to pick it up but his hand fell to her shoulders, pinning her in place.  
  
“You will listen to me. No matter how hard you’re trying to ruin your reputation you are still valuable. I’ve had the most interesting offer just this week from the son of one of my best clients.” 

* * *

The chapel at Fhirdiad palace was always wonderfully empty in the evenings- It was an engineering marvel, and the setting sun glistened through the stained glass in a way that made everything feel otherworldly.  
  
Her favorite pew was available to her and she sat on the hard wood surface, desperately trying to collect her thoughts.  
  
She should tell her father off, take Ferdinand up on his offer to ruin him, run away, refuse to marry anyone she did not choose. Her mind played out a dozen petty fantasies, each more grand and terrible.  
  
She looked back up at the windows and sighed. She clasped her hands in prayer, begging for a solution, for the strength to endure.  
  
The goddess had never once denied Mercedes a prayer to endure.  
  
Maybe she’d grant her the strength to say no, to refuse without any help from others, for her own sake and of her own power.  
  
That he’d dare suggest she marry a man from _that_ family was reprehensible. 

“You know, I usually would find the idea of being alone with a beautiful woman in an abandoned chapel pretty tempting.” Mercedes couldn’t help but brighten, even with the vulgarity of his greeting.  
  
“All done for the night then, Sylvain?” She beckoned him to join her, noting the tiredness in his eyes.  
  
He shrugged, sprawling out on the pew, unconcerned with taking up space, “Well, I am anyway. I didn’t feel like dining with my father or having Felix take his annoyance out on me on the training grounds, so I figured prayer was a viable enough excuse to clear my head. I’ll leave you alone if you want.”  
  
Alone didn’t sound good at all, “I never mind your company, would you like to pray together?” 

  
“Nah, I’m good for tonight. I’d pray for the stupid Kleinman’s to vanish off the face of the continent so all this shit could be over with, and I don’t think the goddess is going to grant me that one.”  
  
Funny, she had half a mind to pray for the same.  
  
“It’s dragging on then? Can you not prove his guilt?” As far as she’d heard, the Viscount had been implicated in quite a few things, not that she was keeping up with the exact details of the trial. What was happening behind closed doors didn’t concern her quite as much as how it was affecting the men arguing about it.   
  
“Oh we know he was in league with Cornelia and Empire forces, we knew that when we arrested him. The real problem is nobody knows what to do with Kleinman itself.”  
  
“The territory?”  
  
He nodded, “It’s been under his son’s control since the Viscount was arrested,” Her stomach dropped, a sharp reminder of tea with her father, but Sylvain kept speaking, “My father wants to take it as part of Gautier, since it’s close by and it’s resource rich. Dimitri had other ideas that put everyone up in arms. Typical Dimitri stuff, right thing to do, wrong move politically.” 

“Everyone’s upset with Dimitri?”  
  
“Big time. I’ve never seen Dedue get so angry. And then we all got kicked out so they could fight privately. So here I am.” 

“They’re fighting?” 

  
“Constantly.” He snorted, but then he sharpened at the blank look on her face, “Wait, you didn’t know?”  
  
She had inklings, of course, but he hadn’t said anything to her about the trial or Dimitri in several days. They spoke of her work, of food, and both fell into bed too tired to speak any longer. He’d been tense, but she’d assumed that was just exhaustion. 

She assumed things between Dimitri and Dedue had settled, that they had slid back into their usual patterns. _Fighting_ was news to her. Dedue didn’t raise his voice to anyone, especially Dimitri.  
  
He hadn’t told her things were that bad.  
  
Mercedes gave a watery smile, “He doesn’t like to speak ill of Dimitri to anyone.”  
  
Sylvain raised an eyebrow, “Even you?”  
  
“Dimitri is his utmost priority.” She explained, and while normally the notion gave her a certain level of pride, tonight it felt empty.  
  
Sylvain tugged at his hair in frustration, “Well his _priorities_ are why they’re fighting. He just refuses to see it. Seriously, it’s as if he doesn’t realize that Dimitri is trying to take care of you too, when he makes his offers. He’s so stubborn.” 

“We’re capable of taking care of ourselves, Sylvain.” Mercedes said, filled with a certain stubbornness herself. She would not discuss Dedue’s reasons, even the ones she did understand, with him. Sylvain resented his nobility, but he clung to it, was good at it.  
  
It wasn’t her place to explain to him how Dedue felt- just as she did not need to know everything that happened between Dedue and Dimitri.  
  
Even if it hurt, just a little, to know he’d kept it from her. 

Sylvain seemed almost angry with her response, “How do you love someone like that? Knowing you’ll never come first?”  
  


How like Sylvain, to see love in a matter of winners and losers. Her heart broke for him once again- He would have been a great man, had things been different.   
  
Mercedes was great at appreciating things for how they were, for accepting things for the beauty they contained. She had no illusions that anything would ever come before Dimitri to Dedue. That had never bothered her, not once. 

  
She turned to Sylvain, “I don’t see love that way. It’s not a competition. Our hearts expand, they accommodate. The love I feel for him is different than the love I feel for Annette, or even you.”  
  
His eyes glinted dangerously and he leaned over her, drawling out, “Oh you love me then?”  
  
She refused to take his bait, and nodded sincerely, “Very much.”

The truth beyond truth, she did. He was as complicated as any of the rest of them, but it was his insistence that he should be unlovable that made her love him all the more. He deserved it, a bit of unconditional love for who he truly was.  
  
He closed in on her space, whispering in her ear, “That’s dangerous.” He was playing a part, donning the mask of the rakish, flirtatious noble he hadn’t really been since they’d reconvened at Garreg Mach for the Millennium Festival.  
  
“No, it’s wonderful. You are very dear to me, as are all of our friends.” She refused to let him muddy their interactions because sincerity was difficult for him, and she continued, “I feel stronger, better, for loving so many people, for having so many different kinds of love. I don’t see love as complicated at all, Sylvain.”   
  
“You and I have very different opinions on what it’s like to love a lot of people, is all I’ll say to that.” He laughed hollowly, the sound echoing off the chapel, “But don’t you ever get jealous?”  
  
“No.” Yes, desperately no matter how many times she told herself it was wrong and selfish and it was not something she would ever be able to change. Mercedes accepted, she endured. The goddess did not give her more than she could bear. Dedue loved her in a way he loved no one else, that she knew for certain. His devotion to Dimitri was an essential part of who he was- She could not love him without loving that part of him too.   
  
But when his loyalty hurt him, and he wouldn't even tell her?   
  
"Why would I be jealous?" 

Sylvain smiled like he didn’t believe her, “Yeah, sure. You’re the best of us Mercedes, you always have been.” 

* * *

  
  
Selfish as it was, it felt easier to return to his quarters knowing Dedue was upset. Her own problems shelved as they should be, purpose once again found as she prepared a tea tray full of his favorites.  
  
Dedue and Dimitri fought, and she would endeavor to make him feel better in the aftermath.  
  
She swallowed the _whys_ that kept rattling around. He would tell her if it was important, and otherwise it wouldn’t matter. She had the pieces of information she needed, she told herself. And it was of no importance that she learned of it from Sylvain.  
  
She cracked open the door, half hoping she would be alone and have time to prepare a nice surprise for him. Effort on his behalf would make him feel loved.  
  
She failed on that endeavor, and her eyes fell to Dedue sitting at a small table in the corner of his room. She realized she’d failed on another count as her eyes adjusted to the low light and she saw the ruined box in his hands.  
  
“Oh I thought I’d hidden it better.” Mercedes said lightly, walking over to the table to set up the tea service. She would not offer, she would just do and he would accept it.  
  
Dedue shrugged, and she felt foolish for having tried to hide the box here. She should have gone back to her own room, not placed it in the bottom of the wardrobe.  
  
“I could smell it as soon as I entered. Where did you find this?” There was a warmth in his eyes underneath the dark circles, even with the half destroyed state of the unopened gift so obvious.  
  
“I bought it at the market. It was meant to be a surprise, but it got ruined.” She did not say how. He did not need to know that part. The box could be tainted in her memory without having that mark on his.  
  
“A surprise for me? Do you know what it is?” He asked simply and Mercedes blushed, remembering the warning from the market. It was meant to be a wedding gift.  
  
“Oh don’t think I’m dropping hints or anything. I thought you were out of supplies and I had absolutely no idea what to buy you so this felt like an elegant solution. The vendor called you _inconsistent_.”  
  


His confusion faded into a kind smile that made her heart sing. He went for the knot on top of the box, “It is for me then?”  
  
“If you want it.” The dirty cloth floated away from the sides, and it tinkled ominously as he lifted it to remove the wrapping, “I’m worried it’s been destroyed. Please be careful, I fear broken glass.”  
  
“What happened?” He gingerly lifted the lid and Mercedes prayed some of the contents were safe. That some part of his gift was salvageable.  
  
Mercedes plastered a smile to her face, “Oh you know me, so careless.” 

His gaze narrowed and he placed the ruined box down, crossing to where she was laying out tea on the low table. 

“You are upset.”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” She smiled up at him, ignoring how her shaking hands rattled the china. 

  
Upset didn’t even begin to cover the white hot fury that she kept buried in her chest after this afternoon. She was terribly, terribly upset. But so was he, she reminded herself. His mood seemed better than she expected- Maybe he would feel safe enough to tell her about what happened earlier? Maybe it was nothing at all and Sylvain was exaggerating?  
  
Desperate to change the subject off of herself, she took the plunge.  
  
“I heard you and Dimitri were fighting.” Stated as truth, not a question.  
  
He stiffened, “Yes.” 

At least he could admit it, she noted, trying not to let any bitterness creep up. She was here to comfort, not fall back into her own thoughts.  
  
The aroma of the Four Spice Blend that Dedue preferred wafted through the room as she gingerly scooped it into the teapot, “I’m sorry he’s upset you then.”  
  
“He did not upset me.” He said mechanically, not meeting her eyes.  
  
An obvious falsehood, but one she understood, “You don’t have to lie to protect him. I won’t think less of him. Or you. Friends fight.” 

Still frozen to the floor he watched her hands cast a simple warming spell on the teapot, “He is a good man. Better than good. He did not deserve my ire today.”  
  
She sincerely doubted that, given it was so terribly difficult to rattle Dedue at all, “What did he do?”  
  
A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the arranging of teacups and the gentle sound of boiling water. Mercedes let him process, occasionally looking up to see if he was still watching her as she knelt. She kept preparing tea as if everything were normal. She could feel Dedue’s tension under the illusion of calm. If he didn’t speak soon, she decided, she’d offer to draw him a bath. That relaxed him. Doubly so if she joined.  
  
He sat across from her, on a chair rather than the floor, resting one long leg over the other. 

  
“He offered me another territory.” Dedue’s low voice rumbled, hardly above a whisper.  
  
Mercedes almost laughed, men and their stubbornness, “Again? But why an argument?”  
  
His eyes met hers and she could not understand the rage in his look as he told her, “He offered me Kleinman.”  
  
She started to say, “Well it’s large sure but…” She trailed into shocked silence as she realized the detail she missed. An incredible guilt overwhelmed her senses. 

“He’s offered you Duscur.” Oh how had she possibly missed it?   
  
He said nothing at all, only stared straight at her as if her gaze anchored him to the ground. Dimitri had offered Dedue Duscur, as if it was just a territory, as one of a series of offers of nobility.  
  
No, maybe not. What had Sylvain said earlier? Dimitri had done the right thing morally. Dimitri had to know what he was offering. 

But Dedue said _Kleinman_ not _Duscur_ .  
  
It was shocking, as the weight of the offer continued to dawn, “How could he have done that? Why not just release it from Faerghus, let it be independent once again?”  
  


Dedue hardened, “She has no people. Survivors scattered around Fodlan, largely ones who were here before the slaughter. No one with power or the knowledge of how to run things is left.”  
  
  
There was nothing to say to that, yet out of some misguided need to try to console him, she tried, “You remember.”  
  
He lit up when he talked about home, when he cooked, or discussed his religion. Even if he resisted it, even when it was painful, his memory kept the place alive. Maybe, maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world for Dedue to handle the territory? Maybe Dimitri was on to something?  
  
He shook his head, “I was no more than a child, and the son of a tradesman. I remember nothing important.” His face fell, darkening as he explained, “If I ruled Duscur I would be tainted by Faerghus, I would rule her as Dimitri rules Fodlan. I do not want land on the back of a kingdom who took it from us. I would wish for it to be as it was.” 

  
And she felt terrible for ever having the thought, this was so beyond her ability to understand. Yet, Mercedes made people feel better, she comforted, and she could not sit in miserable silence. “So what would you do?” She went to go to him, but she sensed even through her panic that her presence was not welcome. He did not always like to be touched. 

He put his face in his hands, “Nothing. I will continue on my path.”  
  
He didn't want to talk, she could tell, but still her heart broke even as it sped up. There had to be a solution, there just had to be.   
  
Good intention could count for so much, but his stubborn insistence that his place was by Dimitri’s side did blind him sometimes. Maybe this was one of those times?   
  
If Dedue didn’t want to be in charge of Duscur, there had to be someone who did.   
  


The idea made sense, it was an elegant solution. It might finally, finally bring the Kleinman chapter to a close, “Why not find someone to take the rule? Find people to settle her?”  
  
  
“Mercedes I do not wish to discuss this any more." Her mouth shut tightly. "I am unable to gather my own thoughts on the matter. This is not a problem with an easy answer.” She could feel his anger flare, and then settle into the calmness he wore like armor.  
  
No, she supposed it wasn’t. The wound had to be fresh, the offer made only that evening. The last thing she wanted was for him to have to rehash his fight with Dimitri, and she realized from his frustration that this was likely the very conversation they'd kicked the council out to have. 

She was terrible, an absolutely terrible partner. She could have just helped him relax, kept his mind off the issue entirely.   
  
Let him pretend the whole thing had never happened, the same way she did with her own problems for all that it solved. 

"I'm sorry. I was insensitive."   
  
"Do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Mercedes."   
  
  


If she hadn't spoken to Sylvain she would have come back with a crushed box, in her own foul mood, and they would have both worried themselves sick over the state of the other without either admitting something was amiss. 

  
Her voice was hollow as she asked, “You wouldn’t have told me about this at all, would you? Had I not asked?”  
  
He was quiet, a confirmation of her worst fears. 

“Why don’t you trust me?” It felt terrible to ask, but she couldn’t help as the question escaped her.

He peered through his hands, saying seriously, “I trust you more than anyone.”  
  
She couldn’t keep the bitter laugh inside herself, “With your body perhaps. Maybe your heart, but not with your mind. You won’t tell me what troubles you, not really. I am here to help, I want so badly to make you feel better. Why am I not enough?”  
  
“You are more than I could ever dream of.” He said, and though his words often filled her with warmth she could sense the dismissal under the words- It left her cold, still shaking. 

Unable to leave him at peace, Mercedes watched him, so plainly exhausted, so unwilling to admit anything to her, “It is not a weakness to let someone care for you. I am happy to just listen, if only you'd ask.”  
  
He shut his eyes, his hands going to his temples to relieve some sort of tension she could see overcome him. She reached forward, desperate to touch him, to make him feel how deeply his pain weighed on her.  
  
“Mercedes, what do you say to a man who is dying?” He asked, studying her face.  
  


She was sure she’d misheard his question, “What?”  
  
“I have watched it dozens of times. How do you comfort a man who is dying?” She realized it was not a hypothetical, but a real question.  
  
“I ask him to think of lovely things. The things that make him happy. The fondest memories he has.” A technique she’d learned from years of hard won experience, it relaxed people. Made their final moments less painful.  
  
“Then you lie to him.” His face was unreadable, but his voice sharp, “You tell him it will help the healing.”  
  
“That’s not…” She didn’t like how he said it, the implication he was making. She stared him dead in the eye, trying desperately to contain the fire to defend herself, “It is a kind lie. I want to help them die at peace. Would you rather I tell a man he’s in his final moments, that when he goes to sleep he may not wake again? To feel fear and regret up to the end? No, I want them to feel safe, to reflect on goodness and life. I will not feel guilty for that.” She rose as she spoke, unwilling to fight but so _tired_ of all of this.  
  
He took her hand as she approached, holding it in his own as he traced her fingertips gently, “I am undeserving of a partner who is so kind. You make everyone feel at home with your very presence. I unsettle others.” 

She gasped out something incomprehensible. Could he not see how safe he made them all feel?  
  
He continued, “I am angry. I am full of hate and regret. You can not bear such things. You are a light. I will not darken you with hatred.”  
  
On any other day she would have cried, reached out to him, said anything to make him feel better, to tell him how incomplete her life had felt without him in it for the years her letters went unanswered. For the months she walked by the greenhouse and the kitchen only to find them empty.   
  
But she was exhausted, and angry, so she said, “You think I do not hate, Dedue?”  
  
He looked her in the eye and said, without malice or judgement, “Not as I do.” 

She slid to the ground, defeated. No, of course not. Their pain was not the same, not even close. To lose a family was not to lose a country. She could never, ever hope to understand.  
  
She also did not understand what it was to die, or suffer madness, or steal to avoid going hungry- It didn’t mean she couldn’t love someone who did, care for someone who did.  
  
Mercedes knew, from the moment she realized she loved him, that she could not understand Dedue completely. There were parts of himself that were only for him, and that was okay. And she could accept that, just as she always accepted things in life she could not change.  
  
But for him to think he could darken her- No, she’d done plenty of that herself.  
  
Mercedes busied herself with preparing tea, as she worked through her thoughts, adding two lumps of sugar to her cup and none to his, “We are a mess, aren’t we?”  
  
He gave her a strange look, but took the teacup when offered, staring at it contemplatively.

  
He thought she never felt angry? That she didn’t have hatred or darkness in her life?  
  
The spice blend sat heavily in her senses and she recognized a few of the flavors. Cinnamon, cardamom. Spices she’d purchased that day. 

  
Anger from earlier consumed her to the point she nearly choked- It rose, escaping through her mouth, “My father smashed the box.” She said tightly.  
  
“Your father?” Dedue could not help but widen his eyes in surprise- Mercedes had been avoiding him specifically for months.  
  
She nodded, “I ran into him, entirely by chance, at the market. He smashed it on the floor- you have the remains of his rage. I took it home, even though I knew it was ruined. I didn’t want to let him win.”  
  


She could feel her hands shake as she recounted the story. She placed her tea down, worried for the saucer. Dedue had repaired enough china lately. 

“I wanted to yell at him, but I didn’t.” She told herself at the time it was because they were in public, but she didn’t have the strength to argue behind closed doors either, “He said such awful things and I politely took tea with him.”  
  


Concern crossed his face, “Why?”  
  
She smiled even as resentful tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, “Because he asked me to and I cannot say no to him, even now.”  
  
“If he was cruel to you-”  
  
She stopped him, “He’s lined up a marriage proposal for me. The son of a Viscount who is desperate to forge ties close to the inner circle in Fhirdiad. One who would turn a blind eye to any _indiscretions_ I may have had previously, because his position is so equally ruined.” The words felt poisonous, even if they weren’t her own. 

“Mercedes.” He rose, and she could see his jaw click into place, how he was trying to keep calm for her, even now. Once she could not pick up on the subtleties of his expressions, but he wore his emotions much as the rest of them if one only knew where to look.  
  
Her heart caught in her chest as she watched him, “It is so easy for you to get angry on my behalf, isn’t it? You are ready to go and fight for me, I can see it in your eyes.” 

He hardened, kneeling on the floor next to her, “That you are even considering it means he has threatened you.”  
  
He was too caught up in what she was saying, she could see his mind spiral into a million strategies, each even worse than the last. She placed a gentle hand on his chest, desperate to feel it move under her touch.  
  
She reassured him, feeling guilty for causing his pain, “I’m not considering it at all. I told him that I would think about it and left politely.”  
  
He took her signal to breathe, “You are not angry then?” 

  
She shook, her whole body cold, “Dedue I’m furious.” 

His hand graced her chin, turning her face to his, “You hide it well.” She could see the understanding bloom in his face.  
  
They really did have so much in common, didn’t they?  
  
He wrapped his arms around her, and she took deep breaths, unable to calm the fire inside. “He wishes to use me as nothing more than a pawn in his games. He wishes to act as if I am an extension of him when it is convenient, and to ignore me otherwise. He wishes to call himself my _father_ when he is nothing of the sort.”  
  
His voice rumbled around her, “Please do not marry someone else.”  
  
Her breath caught in her chest but she just kept going, he didn’t know the half of it, “ _Someone else_ ? The Viscount Kleinman’s son- That is who he’s insisting I marry.”  
  
“I will not let that happen.”  
  


The simplicity of the statement struck her speechless.  
  
“You won’t?” Her voice cracked as she asked, and he answered her again.  
  
“No.” 

Easy as that, she felt her anger begin to fade, calmed by his very presence. The simple reassurance that this complicated, stubborn, lovely man loved her. She could not reject his affections, the way that being held made even the worst hurts easier.  
  
She could always endure, but it was so much easier by his side. “We protect each other. Even when we can’t understand, okay? Let me take care of you because I love you.” 

“I will try.” And she believed him, because Dedue didn’t just say things when he didn’t mean them. She leaned up to kiss him, feeling his shoulders relax under her affections.  
  
She pulled apart, breathless, “Good.” Her stomach growled and both of them grinned at the sound, “Now, we’ve both gotten terribly upset and there are sweets to be eaten and that will make both of us feel better.” 

* * *

Mercedes found that her suspicions were correct; They were both feeling remarkably less tense after a bath.  
  
She perched on a stool in front of the fire, wrapped in a dressing gown that was not at all appropriate for the weather but was always comfortably warm. Her eyes fell to the corner of the room, where for the first time in days Dedue was taking a razor to the white stubble that dotted his face.  
  
She was half disappointed to see it go, but knew he preferred how he looked with a bare face. It was nice to watch him do something for himself. He'd been too busy and tired lately. 

He broke their comfortable silence, eyes focused on his face in the glass, “I… I am sorry I keep things from you.”  
  
The apology felt genuine, and she responded honestly, “Your heart is in the right place.”  
  
“My heart is with you.” He answered. 

If he didn’t have a razor in his hand and they hadn’t just gotten clean she was fairly convinced she would jump him just out of the burst of joy his words sparked. Instead, she sat calmly, and smiled, “And mine with you.”  
  


He sighed, continuing his point, “I am self conscious of frightening others. Anger does not help. And my face is...” He trailed off and her heart broke.  
  
Shaving be damned, she went to him, waiting until he was dipping his razor in the basin she tapped him lightly, waiting until he looked at her to say, “I find you very handsome, you know.”  
  
His lip quirked up, “You have questionable taste.”  
  
She refused to honor his self depreciation, kissing his bare shoulder, “No, I have excellent taste.” She paused, trying to acknowledge what he said earlier, “If it is safer for you to feel anger privately, know you will never scare me away by being angry.”  
  
His response shocked her, “You are permitted to be angry too, you know.”  
  
She stood by his side as he continued tending to his face, trying not to flinch while he dragged the razor down in the near darkness of his candlelit room. She surveyed herself, how much easier breath came now, “I do feel better, having talked about it.” 

Deduce’s voice was as unsure as she’d ever heard him before,“You are not truly considering proposals, right?”  
  
“Just one.” She let the absolute shock fall over his face as he turned to her, mouth just slightly agape, before laughing, “But as we’ve said, not yet. There’s much to worry about before all that.”  
  
He could not hide the redness in his face even by pressing his lips to hers, it radiated through his cheeks and warmed her inside out.  
  
He continued on his task steadily as Mercedes did her best to let her hair dry before falling into bed, for once not thinking of much at all but the satisfaction of the moment.  
  
Dedue spoke again as he discarded the dirty water and folded his kit. 

“I am not sure what to do, with His Majesty’s offer.” He said, in a way that made her realize it hadn’t left his mind, “Yet if no one knows anything of Duscur, she can never live again.”  
  
“So people will need to learn.” Mercedes agreed.  
  
He stared into the middle distance, quietly determined, “I have something I will ask His Majesty for, once the trial ends. A favor.”  
  
“He’ll be delighted.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I love their ending where they found a school so Duscur children can learn about the culture and they help the resettlement in the future. 
> 
> Every time I read through Dedue’s supports and endings and you get hints of the rage and anger that he feels (rightfully so) and he just never says anything and he’s so concerned with how others perceive him and literally none of that gets addressed. 
> 
> I also think that for the two of them, their biggest obstacle in a relationship would be learning to admit when they need something from the other. Neither of them have ever felt safe expressing negative emotions (for very different reasons), but they learn, little by little.


End file.
